


From The Ashes

by dustbottle



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, First Meetings, Fluff, Happy Ending, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-25
Updated: 2017-05-25
Packaged: 2018-11-04 21:22:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10999239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dustbottle/pseuds/dustbottle
Summary: Based onthis prompt: The fire alarm went off at 3 AM and now the cute guy from the flat next door is standing next to me in his underwear.





	From The Ashes

When Bilbo had fallen into bed late the previous evening, he had rather hoped to get a good night’s sleep. His work schedule had been particularly demanding as of late, endless requests and heaps of paperwork piling up around him, and his loving but overbearing relatives had been on his case relentlessly about organizing a party for his thirtieth birthday. The result of this combined strain was that he had expected to sleep undisturbed and well, if not for as long as he would have liked. He decidedly had _not_ expected to be jolted awake in the middle of the night by the shrill shrieking of an alarm.

Bilbo bolted upright with a start, his heart jumping into his throat as he grasped blindly for the glasses he kept on his nightstand. Confusion swirled through his muzzy, still half-asleep brain like an impenetrable fog. _Fire alarm_ , a surprisingly alert voice in the back of his head supplied helpfully while Bilbo fumbled on his glasses and tried to blink the sleep out of his eyes. The red numbers on his alarm clock glared up at him accusingly. _3:22 AM._ Bilbo groaned and swung his legs over the side of the bed. The fire alarm blared on.

In the darkness, his apartment seemed larger and more cluttered and confusing than it ever was during the day. Bilbo stumbled to the door, cursing under his breath as he hit his shin on the bedframe and half-tripped over a stray rug.

He should probably be more worried about this, he thought to himself as he ran a sleepy hand through his unruly hair – and he would be, if this exact thing hadn’t happened about once every month since he’d moved into the building five years ago. Usually it was either a false alarm or Mr. Brown from upstairs burning his toast at odd hours of the night – or, on one particularly memorable occasion, Nori testing out his flamethrower while standing directly under the smoke detector (and just what he needed a flamethrower for, no one had ever found out).

In short, it was probably nothing, _again_ , but his cautious nature still prevented Bilbo from just ignoring the alarm and waiting it out like he knew some of the other residents did. Plus, he was awake now anyway. Ish.

Remembering at the last minute to grab his jacket from its peg by the door, Bilbo blearily made his way outside. His apartment was tucked snugly into the far corner of the second floor, quiet and out of the way of any neighbours, and Bilbo encountered no one else until he reached the wide staircase leading downstairs. Once there he was quickly overtaken by Bofur from apartment 406, who threw him a wink and a grin as he ambled past, somehow astonishingly cheerful even while evacuating in the dead of night. It would be infuriating if he wasn’t always so nice about it.

Bilbo just managed a vague grunt in response, suppressing a jaw-cracking yawn as he tried not to trip headfirst down the curving stairs. His balance was a problem even during the best of times, occasionally deserting him without warning and leaving him feeling curiously light-headed and unsteady, and his current state of bleary-eyed sleep deprivation only added to the danger. He kept a firm grip on the smooth wooden handrail as he calmly descended.

When he got outside, a small crowd had already gathered on the tiny overgrown lawn in front of the building. Most of his neighbours looked the same way Bilbo felt – half-asleep, vaguely disoriented and well on the way to developing a truly epic migraine – with the notable exceptions of Nori, who was bright-eyed and impeccably dressed and didn’t seem like he’d been sleeping at all, and Bofur. Bilbo exchanged long-suffering nods with the few people awake enough to notice his arrival and went to stand on the edge of the silent group, crossing his arms over his chest and closing his eyes with a weary sigh. The shrieking of the alarm echoed insistently in his ears.

This would take a while.

“What in the bloody _hell_ is going on?” an unfamiliar voice demanded suddenly, and Bilbo’s eyes abruptly snapped open. Even agitated and rough with the last stubborn vestiges of sleep, that voice was absolutely gorgeous.

Bilbo slowly turned around to face the newcomer. And blinked. And again.

Standing in front of him, on their sad square of straggly front lawn in the middle of the night, wearing an impressive scowl and boxer briefs _and quite literally nothing else_ , was the single most beautiful man Bilbo had ever seen in his life.

*

Bilbo’s tired mind spent several seconds futilely trying to make sense of what was suddenly and inexplicably right in front of him, tall and dark-haired and bloody _gorgeous_ and exactly, _exactly_ his type. Not to mention almost entirely naked. And _fit_. Bloody hell.

Lost as he was in his dazed state of dreamlike contemplation, it took him longer than it should have to realize the man was looking at him, dark eyes alert and intent on his face. And he was speaking.

To him.

Oh god. _Ohgodohgod-_

He should say something. Anything. Right about now.

“Whrm?” Bilbo managed, wincing internally as soon as he said it. _Smooth._

The man’s dark eyebrows shot up, effortlessly conveying just how unimpressed he was by that reply, and the dull flush creeping up Bilbo’s throat in response to the gesture made him feel suddenly and violently grateful for the merciful cover of night.

“Has anyone contacted the fire department?” The man repeated, clearly thinking Bilbo somewhat slow. Bilbo really should have been insulted at his tone, and at any other time, he would have been- but oh, that _voice_. Rich and smooth and warmly alive and- _god_ , he was staring again. This was getting more embarrassing by the second.

It was too early for this. Or too late. Whichever.

Bilbo swallowed with some difficulty, shaking his head once as if trying to clear it by force. It worked, a little- enough for him to bark out a laugh that hopefully sounded breezy and unconcerned rather than slightly unbalanced.

“Don’t worry,” he replied, pathetically proud of the way his voice didn’t waver as he met the man’s coolly demanding gaze, “it’s probably nothing, this sort of… happens all the time.”

“ _What?!_ ” The man sounded honestly baffled by this statement, as if it was the most preposterous thing he’d ever heard in his life. Bilbo suppressed a small smile at the man’s indignant tone, feeling himself relax by increments as he tried to explain, “Every couple of weeks, at least. It used to freak me out, too, but- well, usually it’s just one of the neighbours-”

“I’m not freaked out,” the man interjected, chin jutting out stubbornly as his initial look of open confusion morphed into a scowl. It was an obvious knee-jerk reaction, the automatic denial almost childlike in its conviction, and the man’s resulting embarrassment was oddly charming.

Bilbo just nodded in acknowledgement, at the same time endeared and fascinated by the subtle play of emotion across the man’s stern brow. At first glance his face seemed impassive, coolly indifferent in an almost regal way, but it soon became clear the opposite was true. The man’s expression was never quite still, countless unnamed emotions flickering and dancing right under the seemingly stoic surface. As the soft glow of a nearby streetlight threw the harsh lines of his features in sharp relief, Bilbo found himself unable to look away.

The man didn’t seem inclined to ask for further clarification, just studied him with an air of calm detachment, apparently supremely unbothered by his own state of undress. Unused to such careful scrutiny, especially while fuzzy-brained and droopy-eyed and right after being forcefully ejected from his bed, Bilbo tugged the sleeves of his jacket down over his hands self-consciously.

“I’m Bilbo, from apartment 207,” he finally blurted out when the silence became unbearable, and immediately regretted it when the man’s eloquent eyebrows lifted again. The embarrassed flush was already warm in his cheeks when he noticed the man’s eyes were bright with quiet amusement, a hint of a smile threatening at the corner of his mouth.

“Thorin, apartment 408,” the man replied, inclining his head ever so slightly in Bilbo’s direction, “Pleased to make your acquaintance.” He seemed to realize the absurdity of his solemn demeanour at the same time Bilbo did, because his deep voice suddenly sparked with humour, taking on a slightly self-deprecating edge as he continued wryly, “My sister told me I should get to know my neighbours, but I highly doubt this is what she had in mind.”

Bilbo snorted rather inelegantly at that, and the man- _Thorin_ flashed him a charmingly lopsided grin. He looked younger when he smiled, softer around the edges somehow, and Bilbo’s heart stuttered almost painfully inside his chest at the sight. He really was devastatingly beautiful – handsome in an untouchable, unattainable way, like an old-fashioned movie star, or royalty.

It was kind of intimidating, but there was also a trace of uncertainty in his behaviour that Bilbo instinctively recognized and sympathized with, a barely-noticeable hesitancy that spoke of an anxious disposition, an edge of apprehension in the curve of his smile. It humanized him, and just like that, Bilbo regained solid ground under his feet. He returned the smile, and Thorin stepped closer as he spoke again.

“So every couple of weeks, you said?”

He sounded hilariously resigned, and Bilbo couldn’t help himself – he laughed.

*

The fire department arrived in due time; Bilbo stifled his laughter at Thorin’s look of bewilderment when several firefighters greeted him by name on their way into the building. He was feeling more wide awake and less grumpy by the second – not to mention _very_ curious about his new neighbour. Who was still standing next to him, and still delightfully and unselfconsciously half-naked. Not that such things mattered to Bilbo. Much.  

“So,” Bilbo started as he sidled surreptitiously up to Thorin, deliberately ignoring Bofur’s exaggerated wink and thumbs-up, “You’re new here, then. What brings you to this part of town?” He cringed inwardly at his phrasing – more bad chat-up line than anything else, which was especially pathetic for someone who prided himself on being good with words – but Thorin either didn’t notice or didn’t care.

“My company moved here from the north,” Thorin replied after a short silence, his voice low and quiet as he mulled over his words, “I was… disinclined to relocate, but I was the only one with the necessary experience and skillset.”

Bilbo’s mind immediately went off on an inappropriate and frankly embarrassing tangent about what exactly constituted Thorin’s _skillset_ , but he managed to make a polite noise of interest and ask, “What do you do?”

“I’m an engineer. My company has accepted several projects in the city centre, and it is much more convenient for someone to lead them from here. And since this is where my grandfather originally founded the company, it is especially important to us that everything goes off without a hitch.”

“It sounds like an amazing opportunity,” Bilbo observed, and at Thorin’s nod of agreement couldn’t resist prying a little more, “If I may ask- Why were you so reluctant to take the job?”

Despite himself, Bilbo held his breath, ready for the inevitable gorgeous wife and herd of adorable children to make their appearance. But Thorin just shrugged, something carelessly graceful in the simple gesture, and said, “My sister and my nephews lived with me back home; they couldn’t come down here with me.” Though he sounded forcedly neutral about it, there was a distinct trace of wistful sadness in his demeanour that he didn’t quite manage to hide.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Bilbo replied carefully, unsure of how welcome his sympathy would be, then added, “I have a nephew, Frodo – he lives with his parents on the other side of town, but that little blighter is the light of my life. I couldn’t imagine having to leave him behind.”

Thorin nodded once and gave a half-smile, looking vulnerable and almost relieved for a second before pulling himself back together. “It won’t be forever,” he said softly, as if trying valiantly to convince himself, and Bilbo felt his heart clench painfully in his chest.

“What about you? What do you do when you’re not being chased out of bed in the dead of night?” Thorin asked then, abruptly shifting the focus of the conversation away from himself. The deliberate lightness of his tone was obvious, but so was the trace of genuine interest running underneath, and Bilbo decided to indulge him.   

“I run a bookshop downtown,” he answered, immediately passionate about the familiar subject, “Second-hand books, mostly, and some work from local self-published writers. The shop used to be my mother’s; it’s small, kind of cluttered actually, but I wouldn’t change anything about it.” Thorin looked at him in quiet fascination as he talked, silently encouraging him to continue where he would otherwise have cut himself short, and Bilbo was more than happy to fill the silence.

If he noticed the way Thorin’s intent eyes were trained on his face the entire time he spoke, something more than polite attention in his inscrutable gaze, he decided not to dwell on it.

*

By the time the building was declared safely fire-free and the culprit was identified (it was Mr. Brown again), Bilbo had talked a lot, but he had also found out quite a lot more about Thorin.

Like the fact that Thorin loved dogs but didn’t want to keep one in his fourth-floor apartment; that he liked classical music and played the piano, but couldn’t stand opera; that his favourite book was _Pride and Prejudice_ ; that he hated horror movies and loved documentaries on nature or history. Like the fact that he went to school and then university in the north and had never once contemplated leaving his family behind before now; that he had wanted to be an archaeologist when he was younger; that his younger sister and her sons were the most important people in his life.

And like the fact that Thorin had no earthly idea how to properly cook scrambled eggs.

The offer was out of his mouth before he could think twice about it. Bilbo blamed sleep deprivation.

“Come to my apartment in a couple of hours for breakfast – I’ll show you.”

There was a heavy beat of silence.

Thorin hesitated, frowning in thought, and Bilbo’s heart sank as he braced himself for the inevitable rejection.

“Is 7:00 okay?” Thorin finally asked, sounding flustered and unsure and looking about as surprised by his reply as Bilbo felt.

As they were currently moving back into the well-lit building, Thorin’s blush was obvious; it extended all the way down to his chest, and Bilbo was horribly, helplessly charmed by it.

He nodded once and smiled up at Thorin, meeting his earnest eyes and trying not to get distracted by the way the hallway lights emphasised his beautiful physique.

“7:00 is perfect.”

*

Bilbo woke with a start, feeling exhausted and extremely confused. At first he didn’t know what had woken him, but the insistent ringing of his doorbell soon cleared that up for him.

“Coming!” Bilbo shouted in the general direction of the front door, barely awake as he fumbled clumsily for his glasses and ran a sleep-warm hand through his hair. _7:00 AM._ Too early for this. Rolling out of bed and into his slippers, he exited his bedroom and padded to the door.

He was already blearily reaching for the doorknob when memories of the previous night finally came rushing back, making Bilbo abruptly freeze in his tracks.

The fire alarm. The night-time evacuation. _Thorin._

Who was coming over. For breakfast. At 7:00. Today.

That hadn’t been one of his more self-indulgent dreams, then. Oh dear.

Bilbo groaned and squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head in a desperate attempt to clear it before running back to put on his bathrobe. Thorin might be surprisingly unbothered by partial nudity, but no matter how glorious that may have been, Bilbo was not about to follow his example.

There was nothing else for it.

Bilbo took a deep breath and opened the door.

And immediately sighed in defeat, resigned to his fate.

Thorin looked gorgeous and completely put together, even at 7:00 in the morning – because of course he fucking did.

“Excuse me?” Thorin asked, apparently not put off by Bilbo’s strange behaviour in the slightest, a faint trace of amusement in his deep voice. “Should I go?” He said it lightly, almost teasingly, but Bilbo was taking no chances.

“No!” He blurted out, perhaps a little more forceful than the situation warranted, before pulling himself together and adding a polite, “It’s nothing – please come in.”

Bilbo stepped back to let Thorin pass, appreciating the clean lines of his dark suit and the subtle way it accentuated his broad shoulders. Thorin turned around with a question in his eyes, and Bilbo wordlessly directed him toward the kitchen before closing the front door and following him inside.

“You look good in a suit,” Bilbo said honestly, his brain-to-mouth filter evidently not quite online yet, and was absurdly pleased with the rosy flush he got in response; then he gestured to his own outfit with a half-smile. “And I’m– underdressed.” Admittedly it was a nice bathrobe, but still.

Thorin snorted as he sat down at the counter and slid over a thermos of coffee. “I think we’re even,” he replied easily, his tone warm and entirely self-deprecating – and just like that, Bilbo felt completely at ease, his jittery nervousness instantly forgotten.

He smiled to himself as he put a pan on the stove and opened the fridge.

“So. Scrambled eggs. You ready for this?”

"Blow me away."

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading, and I really hope you enjoyed! Kudos and comments are always appreciated. You can also find me on [tumblr](http://www.dustbottle.tumblr.com), come and say hi!
> 
> Vaguely fire-related title, of course, taken from this very famous Tolkien poem:  
> "All that is gold does not glitter,  
> Not all those who wander are lost;  
> The old that is strong does not wither,  
> Deep roots are not reached by the frost.  
> From the ashes a fire shall be woken,  
> A light from the shadows shall spring;  
> Renewed shall be blade that was broken,  
> The crownless again shall be king."  
> J.R.R. Tolkien | All That is Gold Does Not Glitter


End file.
